


Spades to Start

by NiceTinCan



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: twd_kinkmeme, Dysfunctional Relationships, Infidelity, Kink Meme, M/M, Post Mpreg, Revenge Sex, Top Daryl, Top Rick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 09:37:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5738680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiceTinCan/pseuds/NiceTinCan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ain't yer husband gonna be home soon?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spades to Start

“It’s just, I have a _job_ , Shane. I work all day and I come home and I’d like something to eat that isn’t a TV dinner or pizza. You’re here all day. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

Rick’s looking at him with his big earnest blue eyes, hands spread in supplication.

“I had a _real_ job too, Rick,” Shane says. “You forget that? You know, the one you made me quit?”

“Someone had to be home taking care of Carl.”

“Coulda been you.”

Rick sighs, pointedly loud, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Shane snorts. “Yeah, I’m tired of it too. It’s always the same thing with you. You know I can’t fucking cook.”

“You make stuff for Carl.”

“You kiddin me? Right, if you want a ham sandwich, some Cheetos and a sippy cup of apple juice I’m your man. Do you even—” Shane shakes his head.

“Well, why don’t you learn then?” Rick says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“Why? Maybe I just don’t want to, Rick. S’bad enough I’m the one playing homemaker. I already clean ‘cause you don’t do that shit. I’m not waitin on you. You’re the reason this is how it is, for Christ’s sake. You want a four-course meal, you make it.”

Shane gets up and leaves Rick there.

He heads up to their bedroom. In the wake of that argument, all the exhaustion of the day seems to pile on him.

And doesn’t Rick know Shane’s tired too? He’s up at seven in the morning just like Rick is. Rick sits on his ass on patrol just as much as Shane does watching Carl.

Shane falls asleep, but of course some time later Rick climbs into bed with him and is all apologies, kissing his neck and well, doing the things that Shane likes.

Shane feels anger still, festering beneath his skin. God help him he loves Carl, his _son_ , but this isn’t the life he wanted. Almost ten years as Rick’s partner gone down the drain; the work Shane used to consider the most important job in his life replaced with entertaining a four year old all day and grocery shopping.

Shane has suggested day care or even his gramma Jean. Rick’s roadblocked him again and again with assertions that Carl should grow up the way Rick did, the way that works.

Shane, whose mother had beat feet when he was just learning to walk, had thought that made some sort of sense.

The enormity of what he was giving up hadn’t occurred to him then. Carl was a baby and taking care of a baby was work that had occupied him all day. Now Carl’s older, starting school in a couple years. There’s less to do.

It doesn’t help that everywhere he goes he has to bring Carl along. He’s too little to go fishing (Rick says) or hunting (Rick says and Shane agrees, though the image of Carl who doesn’t even reach his hip dragging around a rifle had made him laugh so hard when they talked about it Rick looked at him like he was nuts).

Only places Shane can really go besides the store is the park and his granmama’s house (Carl loves it there, and Shane had pawned him off on her many a time before Rick caught on).

Movies? Shane’s watched _A Bug’s Life_ and _Monsters, Inc._ enough times to recite both movies back to back if he wanted to. Carl vocally expresses his boredom at anything other than a PG rating, so that rules out anything Shane might want to see.

Worst thing is, Shane feels like he has no room to complain. After all, he did want a son, he did sign his resignation papers, he did go along with everything Rick wanted.

Like he always has.

\--

Rick has today off.

When Shane comes downstairs Rick and Carl are at the table eating breakfast.

“I fixed him somethin,” Rick says. There’s toast, eggs, and strips of bacon on their plates.

“Thanks,” Shane says.

He’s so used to making Carl breakfast that after getting a drink of orange juice he opens up the cupboard and looks for the pancake mix before he realizes what he’s doing.

He slams it shut.

“That good?” he asks Carl as the boy chows through a strip of bacon, making an effort to keep the bite out of his tone.

“Mm-hm!” Carl wriggles around in his Tom and Jerry pajamas.

Shane has no doubt his overt appreciation has more to do with the fact his father made it than the taste and Shane gets angrier even as guilt presses. He can’t begrudge Carl any of the time he gets to spend with Rick.

Rick rubs the growth of beard on his cheek. “‘Member I said we needed a landscaper? He’s gonna be showin up later. Probably set him to work today, gettin those shrubs sorted out and some branches cut back.”

Shane sits down with his orange juice and admits that’d be nice.

“You want somethin to eat?” Rick asks.

“You know I ain’t hungry when I first get up.”

Shane is, but hell if he’s gonna eat anything like bacon. He’s grown fucking soft the past four years without the job that kept him in shape, and the last thing he needs is to get fat. No, he won’t accept that.

No way in hell.

Shane sets Carl up watching cartoons at a loud volume then pulls Rick back into their room to enjoy his day off. Another issue with his situation; he misses all the sex they had before Carl. When Rick comes home from work he’s usually too tired. Shane misses the variety, misses quickies on their lunch breaks and those times on a quiet patrol when they’d pull over somewhere dark and Shane would unbuckle his seatbelt and climb in Rick’s lap to have some fun.

They fuck till noon. When Rick can’t manage it anymore Shane’s sore and the teeming anger beneath his skin is quiet.

Rick hears a knock at the door and hurries out of bed.

“Where you goin?” Shane chuckles, stretching his arm to trail his hand down Rick’s side.

“Lord, you’re insatiable. Gardener’s here.”

Rick pulls on his pants and leaves the room still fastening his belt.

Shane exhales at the ceiling. Downstairs he hears the door open and Rick’s greeting, then two pairs of footsteps walking through the house to the back door.

Shane gets up and goes to the window.

Through the glass he watches Rick leading the landscaper across the backyard. He thinks Rick said his name was Derek or Dale or something.

He’s wearing a black jacket with the arms cut off, showing muscled, dirt-stained arms.

Right away Shane can see he’s a different breed than him and Rick. This guy’s from somewhere a little more backwoods than King County. He’s got long hair that’s either straight black or some other color that hasn’t been washed in years. It covers up most of his face.

“Where the fuck you find that trash, Rick?” Shane mutters. “Jesus.”

Rick is talking and pointing at the bushes and the branches, everything that needs to be fixed, but Shane can’t stop watching the redneck beside him. Guy looks so _dirty_ he makes Rick, hair still messy from sex and face ruddy, look like the god of cleanliness.

Shane presses himself to the window, glass cold on his naked skin.

Rick’s finger trails a path from the tree to across the house and ends at Shane, as if to say, that there too needs fixin.

Rick sees him and lowers his hand.

Shane smiles down at him.

The landscaper looks up to follow Rick’s attention and Shane thinks he almost catches sight of him before Rick catches the hick’s arm to jerk him around.

Shane laughs. He looks like he’s used to being pushed around by cops.

Rick looks back over his shoulder at Shane, frowning. He mouths something. Shane can make out his lips shaping _get_ and _damn_.

Shane shoves the window open and sticks his torso out. The sill comes up just above his dick. “What you want, Rick?” he shouts down. “I couldn’t make that out!”

Their new landscaper does catch sight of him now. He looks up and shifts the hair out of his face.

Rick barks something up at Shane.

“What’s that?” Shane cups his ear and leans out further. He’s pretty sure his pubic hair is visible now. “Oh you want me to come down? I don’t know, Rick, might have to put on some clothes first.”

Rick shakes his head and pulls the landscaper’s arm again, who keeps looking up at Shane until Rick physically orients him in the other direction.

Shane reels himself back in and closes the window. A sort of ecstatic glee at his stunt has him giggling insanely, the same giggles he fought back when he told Principal Kingsley his coupe was gone.

He puts his pants on and heads down to the kitchen only for Carl to come drifting out of the livingroom.

“Howdy, little man.” Shane swoops him up. “What’s the rush?”

Carl doesn’t say anything.

Shane jiggles him, peeking around the corner out the window. Rick’s still going on about the yard work.

Shane carries Carl to the couch and dials down the volume on _Police Dogs_. When he peels Carl’s face from his shoulder to look at him, his son looks absolutely crushed.

“What’s up?” Shane asks softly.

“I’m sorry,” Carl says. He takes a big shuddery breath and his face crumbles. “I’m sorry that you can’t have your job anymore, Daddy, I’m sorry!”

“ _What_?” Shane looks at the cartoon, at the little dogs in blue. “Oh no.” It’s the episode where Riley turns in his badge after he’s unable to chase down the big bad of the show.

Carl hiccups. “It’s ‘cause of me!”

Shane grips his little fists and looks his son straight in the eye, “No,” he says through snarling teeth. There’s a flashing rage in him that he doesn’t want Carl to witness, but it’s clawing out his mouth anyway. “Don’t you ever say that. That’s _Rick’s_ fault.”

The back door bangs open.

Shane kisses Carl’s forehead. “Look, it ain’t no big thing, okay,” he whispers. “It ain’t on you, bud. Don’t you worry about it.”

Rick’s footsteps clap behind him. “What was that, Shane?” he snaps.

“Just havin a chuckle, man. I gotta have _some_ fun.” Shane stands up with Carl and turns to his husband.

Rick’s face falters at seeing his son’s tears. “What happened?”

“Tell him,” Shane prompts Carl, who looks at him like Shane’s betrayed him. “Go on.”

Carl sniffs, a big huge sniff that puffs his whole body up, and looks at Rick. “Why’d you make Daddy quit his job?”

Now Rick looks betrayed. It’s an expression that Shane wants, he wants to make Rick feel pain. He wants Rick’s shoulders to slump like that, he wants him to gesture helplessly and he wants his throat to click until he finally says, “That’s what was best for you.”

Those words seem to affirm something for Rick. He straightens and hardens up again. Any guilt Shane saw falls back into the cracks.

With a few words Rick’s done the Right Thing.

He ain’t ever wrong. There’s never any forks in the road for Rick, and maybe for the first time Shane realizes there weren’t any discussions back when they talked about who should resign—Rick had just been polite enough to let Shane think he had any other option.

\--

Daryl.

Daryl Dixon.

The name stinks so much of redneck trash Shane had curled his lip when he found out.

“I’m trying to get him on a better path,” Rick says. “He doesn’t need to end up like his brother.”

Brother Merle Dixon’s a drug dealer. Rick had jailed him more than once, but this time it looked like he’d be in the slammer a good stretch of years.

“He’s a good kid,” Rick adds, though Shane thinks Daryl must be at least his own age. “Does the work, don’t complain.”

Shane wonders how much of a leap of logic it is to think Rick just took a jab at him. A little hop, maybe. 

Shane’s watched Daryl do that no complaints work. He’ll watch from their bedroom window or tip the curtain back on the sliding glass door like a damn voyeur. He’s sure Daryl’s caught him a few times, but he never investigates.

Following his window stunt, it’s another little hop to think Rick’s left Daryl with strict instructions to not say a damn thing to Shane or Carl.

Rick’s not more or less jealous than any man, but the more he can direct and control the better he feels—a lot of that comes from being a police officer, but most of it comes from being Rick.

It’s a hot Georgia day when things begin to ease out from under Rick’s thumb.

Carl’s running around the house in only his underwear, flapping his arms like a bird. There ain’t no stopping him. He says the bizarre chicken dance cools him down.

Now he runs into the kitchen and makes a pitstop at the freezer.

Shane smiles from the table, watching Carl’s arm snake around in the cold before he pulls out the empty popsicle box.

He turns and stares at Shane.

“Sorry little man,” Shane says, and bites the nose off the frozen rocket in his hand.

Carl groans. He drops the box and stamps it flat, then throws it away like his daddy taught him. “What’s wrong with the house?”

“What?”

“Why’s it so hot?”

“The AC conked out on us, bud. We’re gonna roast like a coupla rotisserie birds. Least you’re already flappin like a chicken. Now you just need some seasonin.”

“Can’t you fix it?”

“Maybe if it was a sink I could.”

“Daddy,” Carl whines. “It’s so _hot_.”

“Bud, you want the rest of this?” Shane holds out the popsicle that’s already starting to drip down his knuckles.

Carl perks up a bit. He takes off with the stick, flapping like he’s trying to fly away.

Shane groans and drops his forehead into his hand. His hair is soaked. Sweat has darkened his collar and made a river down his back. Humidity killed the air conditioner and no doubt it’ll knock him out soon enough.

As he sits there cooking, a series of soft knocks travel to his ears.

Shane laboriously raises his head, wiping the curtain of sweat off his face. He looks around.

_Ponk, ponk, ponk._

He frowns and turns in his chair to the sliding glass door.

Shane gets up against the oppressive heat pushing him down and draws the curtain to the side.

There stands Daryl.

Shane blinks. He thought it might’ve been an animal or something, not the damn landscaper. Though he could pass for one.

Shane slides it open. “If you’re wantin some cool air, you won’t find it in here. AC’s broke.”

“Jus’ wonderin if I could get some water, actually.”

His voice—rough, hick thick—is so unexpected Shane doesn’t even understand him at first, and he’s left looking at Daryl’s squinting face.

Shane rubs his head. “Water, that what you said?”

“Ya-huh.”

“Yeah, got water. Step in a second.” Shane opens the screen, and in an odd moment of clarity looks at himself letting in this stranger, a criminal’s brother, and wonders what the fuck he’s thinking.

But no, he could take this guy down if he tried something—and Shane knows he wants him to try, because then Shane can contribute something to the fucking world again.

Shane gets a glass. “You workin on the tree?”

“Yeah. S’almost done. And did the mowin this mornin. Grass ain’t gonna be that pretty green much longer.”

Daryl says thanks when Shane hands him the water, which surprises him. 

He tips the glass back and has it all in one go. Some of it carelessly escapes his mouth and floods his chin and neck, cutting through the dirt there.

After wiping his mouth, he looks at Shane from behind all that hair. He gestures with the glass. “Yer Rick’s husband then.”

“Last I checked. I hope that ain’t gonna be a point of contention.”

“It ain’t,” Daryl says.

Shane nods and breaks eye contact. Past lank strands of hair Daryl’s eyes are cutting, alert like an animal’s.

“That’s my son,” Shane chuckles, when Carl shrieks by them, flapping away. There’s a big purple stain around his mouth now from the popsicle. “He’s doin that ‘cause—”

“It’s hotter’n deep fried hell?” Daryl uses the collar of his shirt to wipe his face.

“AC’s busted.”

“Probably from all the humidity. I could probably get it workin again.”

Shane looks at him. “Thought you just trimmed shrubs?”

“I know a lil’ a’everythin.”

Shane sucks in a deep breath. Daryl smells how he looks; filthy but not entirely unpleasant.

“If you think you can do somethin, have at it.”

“All righ’. Guess ya got tools?”

“Yeah, they’re all over there. I was tryin to fix it earlier. The power’s still shut off too. _Carl_.”

Shane swoops up his boy and takes a paper towel to his stained mouth. “Man here’s gonna try and get the air conditioner workin again, okay? You can’t be stampedin around the house. I’ma let you go outside but you promise me you won’t go near the pool. Promise?”

“Can I play in the sprinkler?”

“If you’re good.”

“I will be,” Carl says solemnly. “Okay, I promise.” He looks at Daryl. “I hope you can fix the air condishning.”

Daryl looks like Carl just added a ton of pressure on him. “Well, I’ll try.”

Outside isn’t any better than inside. The wind just blows hot air.

Shane pulls the hose out and gets the sprinkler from the shed.

“I’ma be watchin you,” he tells Carl. “You even step a toe in the pool’s direction and you better hope Daryl fixes the AC ‘cause otherwise you’re gonna be bakin up in your room. Got it? I ain’t kiddin Carl. Know how deep that water is?” Shane waves a hand a foot over Carl’s head.

“Yeah,” Carl sighs. “Um, when _can_ I use the pool?”

“Um, well, let’s see. Soon as the cows come home.”

Carl groans. “You always say that!”

“Hey, I’m still waitin on em too.” 

Shane pours sunblock into his hands and rubs Carl down vigorously. He’s got Rick’s skin; white as bread and burnt just as easily.

The sprinkler forks high into the air and Carl whoops, dashing through it.

Shane closes the screen on the sliding door and goes to pour himself a glass of whisky.

Rick doesn’t like him drinking.

“Well, fuck Rick,” Shane mutters, kneeling down to the lowest drawer. Never used; perfect place to stash a bottle of hard stuff.

Shane opens the bottle with his wedding ring and looks in the cupboard for a glass, but he pauses. The bottle swings idly in his hand.

Shane closes the cupboard and tips the bottle into his mouth.

It’s warm. Shane swallows and closes his eyes as it spreads heat into his throat and down his belly.

“Think I can get sum of tha’?”

Shane jumps in the middle of another helping. He coughs and whisky seeps through his lips.

He wipes his mouth and holds the bottle out to Daryl. “Shit, didn’t think you’d be done so soon.”

Daryl takes the bottle. His hand is covered in watery muck. “Yer condensate drain was clogged.”

Daryl takes a gulp. Shane watches his throat bob and is entirely too aware that Daryl’s mouth is where his just was.

“So you fixed it?”

“Ya-huh.” Daryl gives him the bottle back. “All you gotta do is take a wet vac to the pipe and clear it out.”

“Good to know. Seems like you know a lot ‘bout this sorta thing.”

“Learnt it all from my brother,” Daryl says and pushes his hair out of his eyes. “Was in the Army and did utilities repair.”

“I heard he’s gonna be doin some time.”

“Yeah, thanks to Rick,” Daryl spits.

Shane laughs. “Yeah, lotta things are thanks to Rick.” Which is true, just the same as it ain’t his fault Daryl’s brother is a lowlife drug dealer, but Shane keeps that to himself. He’s past defending Rick and years past being a cop.

What’s the goddamn point.

Daryl wipes his forehead with his arm and deflates. “All righ’. Gonna get back out there.”

“Thanks, man. Hey, yard’s lookin better.”

Daryl grunts and makes a dismissive gesture before heading back outside.

Shane checks on his son. The tree Daryl’s trimming branches on is close enough for him to keep an eye on Carl, and Shane’s surprised to see him doing just that. Every time Carl shrieks Daryl looks over to check he’s still playing in the sprinkler and not hollering in the deep end of the pool.

Shane doesn’t know what to think of that, but since he doesn’t have to watch Carl he goes into the garage and turns the power on again.

A few minutes later, there’s cool air blasting his face.

“Thank you, baby!” Shane laughs, and kisses the vent. With a blissful smile he sits next to it, bottle between his legs.

The cold air dries his sweat and he starts to feel like a human being again. When he tucks the bottle rim to his lips, he thinks of Daryl’s mouth.

Shane thinks he can taste him.

“Fuck.” He bangs his head back into the wall. Arousal chomps his gut and he can’t help himself. He unzips his jeans and slides his hand into his underwear.

He’s a loyal man, even in this. Rick and a handful of fantasy girls are all he’s gotten off to the past ten years. Rick and the things he won’t do, girls for the things he can’t.

Shane strokes himself harder, pulling his lip between his teeth to stifle himself.

Daryl for what Rick owes him.

\--

“You gotta stop smokin these, Mamaw,” Shane chides, even as he flicks a lighter under gramma Jean’s waiting cigarette.

“If they do kill me, I’ll just say about damn time.” She leans back and blows her smoke towards the awning. Then she peers at him over the fork of her fingers. “You tell Rick about what I said?”

“I don’t tell him a damn thing anymore. Nothin to say that ain’t a waste of goddamn breath.”

She hums. “I get him not wantin someone else to raise his child. Every day I regret lettin that no good husband of mine take your father. Benny wasn’t s’posed to turn out the way he did. He was a good kid.”

“You don’t gotta tell me. I’m sure he was.”

She has of course. A hundred times. There’s just too much dissonance in imagining his father being like Carl is now, and growing up to beat his own child’s face in.

Shane takes a long drink and washes those memories away.

“Having Carl would be like a second chance,” she says.

“I know that, Mamaw.”

She nods her head over Shane’s shoulder, where Carl is running around in the yard after her little cocker spaniel. “That boy’s Rick made over. He don’t look a thing like you, Shane. I reckon not seein that other fifty percent of the equation fouls up fathers’ thinkin. Forget all about you were the one who spent fifteen hours in unholy pain to get him out, and nine months of all kinds of hell before that.”

Shane chuckles and gramma Jean tips her cigarette at him like a toast.

Shane settles in his chair and splays comfortably. “I got two more years till Carl starts school. Somethin’s gotta change then. We could work different shifts, or get a babysitter till we get home, somethin like that.”

“I’d do it for free. But ain’t nothin gonna change in two years. Rick’s a man who thinks he’s got everything on God’s good earth the way he likes it, and when he’s set, he’s set.”

Shane leans forward. “Mamaw, I tell you Rick don’t believe in God?”

“Why would he?” She coughs and waves the smoke away. “Why would a man like that believe in God?” She scoffs a laugh. “I can’t believe you’ve stuck it out this long, honey.”

“Yeah,” Shane says. He bites his thumbnail. “We just been together so long.”

Shane used to tell Rick he should be proud because he was the one who managed to chain Shane down. Shane used to tell Rick he would always be the only man he ever wanted.

“I still remember you two little boys diggin up them worms in the backyard,” gramma Jean says warmly. 

Shane does too.

He gets up and exchanges his whisky for a glass of water. He’s on the fast track to becoming an alcoholic these days.

Shane rifles through his granmama’s recipe book. “Learn to cook,” he mocks, and seething acid burns behind his teeth.

“Rick’s got this landscaper fixin up our yard, cleanin the pool and all that,” Shane says, raising his voice so she can hear him on the patio. “Oh man, he’s straight outta the backwoods.”

Shane sets the recipes down and comes back outside.

Gramma Jean’s tapping her cigarette out. “That bad?”

“No,” Shane admits. “No, he ain’t that bad. Fixed the air conditionin last week gratis.” Shane feels a roiling in his gut. If he lets himself, he can feel that cool air above him again, itchy drying sweat, stiff dick in his hand.

“What’s his name?”

“Daryl.”

“Well, what’s he look like?”

“Dirty as a stray mutt, Mamaw. What, you think I’m lookin at him?”

She shrugs, a smile twitching at her lips.

Shane grins and he thinks she’s caught him then. She knows him better than anyone.

“Nah,” he says anyway. “I got the ol’ ball and chain to think about.”

“All right, then.”

Well, hell, just a little more whisky won’t give him cirrhosis.

\--

Rick’s kissing his shoulder.

“You ready for round two?”

Slip of his hand over Shane’s waist, dipping down between his legs.

Shane snares his wrist hard, so hard Rick hisses and his fingers flail out.

Shane tosses his hand away. “No, I ain’t.”

Rick’s quiet and still behind him a few moments.

Shane listens to him breathe, lick his lips, and exhale a papery sigh from his nose.

“Is there somethin wrong?”

“There always is,” Shane says. He laughs, “And, Rick, I think it’s gettin to the point where we can’t just fuck them problems away.”

The bed creaks and Rick’s breath washes over his ear. “Is that how you see this?”

He sounds so pissed Shane almost reconsiders taking this last safe place from him, this act he thought the bitterness from the rest of their time together couldn’t touch.

But that just makes Rick a fool. 

Nicest room on a sinking ship still sinks.

“Course that’s how I see it,” Shane says, opening the door for that big black flood. “Far as I can tell, ain’t nothin else it could be anymore.”

“Screw you, Shane.”

Rick gets out of bed and Shane listens to the slap of his barefeet out the door.

Shane rolls onto his back and smiles. Rick’ll tiptoe in later, and apologize for what he said like it was the most vile insult yet.

“ _Fuck_ you, Rick.” Shane chuckles. He doesn’t know why all this is funny. Not for the first time he feels like he’s just watching his life, like it’s one of those absurd telenovelas Shane had mainlined at their first apartment; no cable package and rookie badges, two domestic disputes a night.

Shane rolls onto his stomach and stays there awhile, dozing and wondering how the hell he let his life end up like this.

“Daddy!”

“Daddy’s asleep,” Shane mutters, all mushed up in the pillow.

“Daddy!”

Shane hears Carl burst through the door and run to the bed. He takes a flying leap onto Shane’s back and Shane feels something press onto his ear.

Shane blinks and turns his head away from the pressure. “What’re you doin?”

“Hello?” crackles in his ear.

Shane blinks.

“It’s Mary Ann’s mommy,” Carl whispers, pressing what Shane realizes is his cellphone harder into his ear.

Shane hurries to sit up, managing to catch the phone when Carl lets it go. He sets it back on his ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mr. Grimes!” A perky female voice says.

Grimes. Shane almost winces. Another thing Rick decided for him.

“Ms. Hansen, hey.” Shane recognizes the voice from the woman he and Carl met in the waiting room at his last doctor’s appointment. “How you doin? How’s Mary Ann?”

“She’s doing just fine. I was actually just calling to ask you if Carl would like to come over and have a little play date. I thought it was so cute how they hit it off at the doctor’s office. Maybe they can be friends?”

Shane looks over his shoulder at Carl, who must’ve gave her his phone number while Shane picked through a magazine.

Carl meets his glare with bright eyes and eyebrows raised in hope.

“Uh.” Shane shoulders the phone and wraps the sheet around his hips tighter, very aware he’s undressed and Carl’s clinging to his back. “Uh, when would this be?”

“What’s the best time for you?”

“Um, tomorrow would be fine, I guess. I can bring him by in the afternoon.” Shane’s thinking of the swell of Ms. Hansen’s breasts under that soft grey sweater she wore. He remembers her saying something about being a single parent.

An opportunity couldn’t get more golden.

“That’d be just fine, Mr. Grimes.”

Carl jumps up and down on Shane’s calves after Shane says goodbye.

“Yay!” he chants. “Thanks, Daddy!”

Shane growls and wrestles his son down into the bed. “You’re in trouble, little man! How many times I gotta tell you to not go around tellin everyone my phone number? Huh?”

Carl laughs and squirms.

“You think this is a game?”

“Yep!”

Carl wriggles out from under him and skips to the door. “Tomorrow!” he screams as he dashes down the stairs.

Shane slumps on the covers and scrubs a hand down his face. At least tomorrow he’ll get a couple hours peace.

“What happens tomorrow?”

Shane opens his eyes. With his head hanging off the bed Rick is upside down in the doorway, arms crossed and looking sheepish.

“Carl’s goin to see his girlfriend. You ain’t heard? Met her at the doctor’s office.”

“It’s serious, then.”

“Sure is. Tell you what, he’ll be gettin on soon enough. Marriage, house, coupla kids. Best we’ll get is a Christmas card once a year.” 

Shane stretches. The sheet slips down his hips and Rick comes over to him, knees up on the bed and sweeps his palm down Shane’s chest. “I’m sorry about what I said. Snapping at each other ain’t gonna fix anything.”

Shane sinks into the bed under the weight of Rick’s hand over his belly. It spreads warmth through his whole body.

If Shane keeps his eyes closed, it could be Daryl touching him. His hand would be different than Rick’s; calluses from landwork would be rougher on his skin.

Shit, what would that be like?

Shane’s mind trails along that fantasy as Rick pulls the sheet away entirely, tugs him forwards and under him.

Shane reaches up to feel along Rick’s side, feels the slats of his ribs, the bony crop of his hip. Daryl would be meatier.

Rick laugh softly. “Is this an inspection?”

Daryl, Daryl, Daryl. What would he be like?

Rick pulls Shane onto his lap and Rick smells too clean; aftershave and deodorant and Listerine. Too pale under Shane’s hand when he runs his palm down Rick’s chest, hairs crackling against his skin.

Shane wonders if Daryl has any tattoos.

Rick pushes into him. His lips mouth at Shane’s chest.

Shane tips his head back.

How big his cock is.

Bigger than Rick’s? Rick’s nicely sized, Shane wouldn’t have married him if he wasn’t, and it feels great as it slides in and out of him, but maybe Daryl would have a little extra, a little more thickness for Shane to stretch around.

Shane’s hands clench and he keeps himself quiet as he comes after just a minute of fucking and Rick must think he’s hitting it special tonight because he pushes Shane onto his stomach and starts in ramming him, keeping Shane down with a hand forced into his lower back.

It feels almost like punishment.

Shane tongues the pillow, open eyes winding sightlessly up the wooden stretch of headboard. 

How would Daryl fuck him?

Shane lets that idea intoxicate him. He can make Daryl’s voice resound in his head if he thinks hard enough, drown out the incessant gasps from Rick that are pitching out into growls now.

Shane’s trying to shape that voice to groan his name when there’s a flashing pain in his shoulder.

He spasms under Rick. “What the fuck?”

Rick _bit_ him.

“Hey man don’t do that shit,” Shane says, but it’s lost in the cacophony of harsh breaths and slapping sounds.

What he said before definitely riled Rick a bit, and Shane feels a dark swell of satisfaction.

Oh, Rick’s _worried_.

Rick finishes inside him and Shane seethes a breath into the pillow at the warm spill. He could’ve sworn he told Rick to wrap it up.

It’d be just like Rick, to try and tame him again by putting another kid in him. Another kid Shane will have to stay home for. A little insurance for when Carl starts school.

“Fuck.” Shane bucks Rick off him and sits up so it can leak out of him. “The fuck’re you thinkin?”

Rick’s bleary blue eyes meet his. He wipes his sweaty curls off his forehead. “It ain’t like we gotta be careful.”

Shane grinds his teeth. “My input don’t matter then?”

“Christ, Shane, would another kid be so bad? We’re not rookies makin it in a little apartment anymore, puttin Carl’s crib in the kitchen.” Rick chuckles.

Shane’s body pounds. “I don’t want another one, Rick.”

Rick doesn’t look fazed. “Well...”

Shane lurches forward and takes Rick down to the bed. He shakes him roughly. “I don’t want another one, you hear me? Do you _hear_ me, Rick?”

Rick grabs his wrists. “Stop it.”

“No! You listen to what I’m tellin you!” Shane smacks him. The back of his palm cracks across Rick’s cheek.

It feels so good Shane’s mouth drops open in excitement. 

So he does it again.

Rick grits his teeth and rolls them over—all too easy now, easy now that Shane’s gone _soft_ —and Shane shouts and punches.

He nails Rick in the mouth.

“ _Stop_ ,” Rick growls at him, and blood from his cut lip sprays a tiny red shower on Shane’s chin. “Stop, I don’t wanna fight with you, Shane.”

“Fuck you.” Shane shoots the words into Rick and pushes him off.

He pulls on the first pair of shorts he can find and throws open the door.

Carl’s at the end of the hall. “Daddy,” he says softly, and tries to wrap around Shane’s leg when he walks by.

Shane ruffles his hair but nudges him off. “It’s okay, little man.”

“I heard you yelling.”

“It’s okay.”

Shane continues down the stairs and out into some fresh air.

At the edge of the patio he lets himself collapse. The wind tears at his wet eyes, but he sits there and breathes, curls in his right hand. It’s bruised and aching now.

“The hell’s wrong with you,” Daryl says from his left. His ragged voice rolls into Shane’s ears over the skimming of his net through the pool.

Shane stares ahead. If he looks, he’ll give. Just crawl over to Daryl and unzip him and shove his mouth full of cock.

“Y’all have a fight or sumthin?” 

There’s a wet rustle as Daryl shakes the leaves out onto the ground.

“Man, it ain’t nothin,” Shane says finally. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

“Don’t look like nuthin, but all righ’.” 

Shane jumps his eyes over to him just as Daryl looks up.

There’s a cigarette in the corner of Daryl’s mouth that he switches to the other side.

Their stare, the moment it lasts, unnerves Shane. He’s never realized how downright flinty Daryl’s eyes are. 

There’s no doubt in Shane’s mind that he sees right on through him.

\--

Shane’s so exhausted the next day it’s Carl who has to wake him up.

“Daddy! Daddy! We gotta get ready to go!”

“Go where,” Shane groans. When he licks his sleep-chapped lips he can taste coffee. Rick must’ve just kissed him and left a few minutes ago.

The sentiment doesn’t warm Shane like it usually would.

“Mary Ann’s house! Get up, Daddy! You gotta tie my shoes!”

Shane rubs his eyes and sits up. 

Carl’s a blurry figure hopping up and down at the end of the bed.

Shane blinks again until his son comes into focus. Carl’s managed to get in a pair of overalls, though the straps are hanging unfastened and his hair has been licked by more than one cow. Nice straight, fine hair, like Rick’s father had. 

Shane’s sleepy mind trails along that thought. Carl has Rick’s chin, nose, eyes and ears. The longer Shane looks at Carl, the more he makes a man out of Carl’s little chubby face, the more he sees Rick in front of him.

“Daddy?”

Shane shakes his head. “Yep?”

“Are you mad?”

“Nah. C’mere.” Shane lifts Carl onto the floor and bends to tie his tennis shoes.

“You looked really mad.”

“I ain’t mad, all right?” Shane laughs, coming up to fasten Carl’s overalls. “Geez. No interrogations first thing in the morning. You excited to see your girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend!”

“Yeah!” Shane stands and swings Carl up. “You gotta be like your daddy and get all the girls, right? Eh?”

“Daddy, you didn’t get all the girls. You only got Dad, and he’s a boy.”

“Yeah, ain’t that a stumper.”

The walk to Mary Ann’s is humid.

Shane realizes halfway there that no, he didn’t underestimate how far away three miles is. He’s just that out of shape.

“Oh, man.” He swings his and Carl’s joined hands together and tries to imagine his lungs bigger. “Back when I was in high school, I could run from our house to Mary Ann’s _and_ back.”

“Whoa.”

“Your dad tell you ‘bout the time I stole this principal’s car?”

Carl shakes his head, his feet scurrying to keep up with Shane’s long strides.

Shane tells the story to Carl by way of rote, the way Rick’s always recalled it to others, the way that makes him laugh the hardest.

“And I said, ‘Principal Kingsley, your coupe’s gone.’”

Carl breaks out in a fit of giggles probably inspired more by Shane’s tone of voice than the actual punchline, but that’s okay. He’ll understand it better when he’s older, when he laughs just like Rick does.

The clouds roll in when they get to Ms. Hansen’s house and Shane feels just as dreary inside.

Not even the sweet curve of Ms. Hansen’s tits under another cashmere sweater can boost him up. He keeps circling around the humiliating fact that he can’t even walk without getting out of breath.

He manages only a few sentences of plain small talk with Ms. Hansen, declines an invite to come in, and for the first time utilizes his wedding ring as something other than a bottle opener by making a show of adjusting it wherever Ms. Hansen looks. 

He can tell she wants him, but he just wants to go home and get trashed. Rick’ll have to pick Carl up after work.

Shane walks home. He feels like there’s these deep tears in his life he never noticed before. And it’s not _his_ life, that’s Rick’s too, because if Shane’s life had ever been his own he would’ve played college football instead of following Rick to the police academy; he would’ve moved out of this small town instead of getting a house with Rick; he would still have his job instead of walking home today with a night of stupor ahead of him.

Daryl’s truck is in the driveway when Shane rounds onto his street.

Shane fills with a warm, honeyed excitement. It covers all those scratching thoughts and balms his sore legs.

Shane races upstairs to shower and change his clothes. He doesn’t pull any punches; wears his fitted jeans, only buttons his shirt halfway, and digs through drawers until he finds his favorite cologne.

After shaving and raking a comb through his hair, he’s light as a feather when he walks into the kitchen and peeks past the glass door curtain to spot Daryl in the backyard.

And, there he is, struggling with the lawn mower.

Shane steps out. “That thing’s always a pain in the ass.”

Daryl pulls the starter so hard he falls back on his ass. He kicks the wheel, “Stubborn lil’ bitch.”

Shane could fucking _salivate_. Daryl’s stained with dirt, even has some on his face; he’s wearing that jacket with the sleeves cut off, skin stretched tanned and sheening with sweat over his thick biceps.

Shane’s shadow falls over him. “Wanna bet this thing needs a new carburetor?”

Daryl shakes his hair out of his face. “Man, always sumthin broken around here.”

“Hey, now, you fixed the weed eater. Rick ‘preciates you for that, by the way.”

“Yeah, but that ain’t my job. Payin me to mow the grass, not fix the piece of shit that’s s’posed to mow it.” 

Daryl stands.

Shane’s heart beats in his ears. He can smell Daryl’s sweat. All his atoms squeeze.

“Hey, man, d’you wanna come in and have a drink or somethin?”

Daryl wipes his sprinkling brow. “What?”

“You wanna drink? Get outta this heat for a minute.”

“All righ’.”

“I took Carl over to his little girlfriend’s house,” Shane says as they step inside.

Shane uses the small dining room they’re enclosed in as an opportunity to brush up against Daryl on his way to his stash of alcohol.

“So ya finally got sum time to yerself?”

Shane smiles at him. “Ain’t that nice?”

Daryl’s lips quirk in a way he doesn’t seem to realize he’s doing.

Rick’s always said Shane’s smile is his sure advantage.

“You can smoke in here if you want,” Shane says when he hands Daryl his bottle, trying his best to seem relaxed and open. This won’t be how it was with Rick, where Shane had turned Rick’s face towards him and kissed him hard, pushed Rick down into the couch.

If he can get Daryl to make the first move then Shane has a little less on his conscience.

Not that Rick will ever find out.

Daryl has a few swigs then helps himself to a cigarette. Scent of tobacco smoke stretches around Shane.

Shane leans over the counter. Doesn’t miss Daryl’s eyes flicking down the curved line of his back. It doesn’t matter if Daryl likes men or not. Shane’s gotten teachers fired over him.

“Anything else ‘bout the other Dixon?” Shane asks.

Daryl’s lips pinch tighter around his cigarette. He pulls it out of his mouth and exhales smoke that Shane breathes in and lets burn his lungs. “Rick don’t tell ya nuthin?”

“Less than you think.”

Daryl grunts.

Long drag.

“What’d y’all fight ‘bout last night?”

“You’re still on ‘bout that?”

“Yer still on ‘bout Merle.”

“Just tryin to be friendly.”

Daryl hums a low sound of disbelief.

“Man, come on,” Shane laughs. He takes a drink and makes sure to wrap his lips around the bottle. “What? You think I’m gonna tell Rick anything?”

“I heard ya used to be a cop an’ I know pigs stick together.”

Shane lets the insult slide off him. Years ago it would’ve flooded him with acid, but now Shane just smiles and drinks. “Thanks to Rick, I haven’t been a cop in a long time, so don’t be thinkin I’m just tryin to get dirt on your brother. How much time he lookin at?”

Daryl looks like he’s trying to chew something tough. “Fifteen years.” He tosses his cigarette butt out the sliding glass door.

Shane whistles. “I’m sorry, man.”

“Could cop a plea but he ain’t gonna do it. Fuckin jackass.”

“He all you got?”

Daryl looks down. “Yeah. Guess ya could say that.”

“I’m sorry,” Shane says again.

Daryl nods.

Shane straightens and runs a hand through his hair. “Shit, man.” He clacks his bottle into Daryl’s. “To both our healths, huh?”

Shane licks his lips after he lowers the bottle from them. He moves around the counter—brushes against Daryl again—to the dining table and leans back on his hand, angled towards Daryl pretty goddamn blatantly.

But the more he opens up, the more Daryl seems to shrink in. Now Shane’s lost any sense of eye contact with him as Daryl’s eyes flit around and down.

Shane feels the first inklings of despair. No. He _needs_ this.

“Why you so nervous, man? I ain’t ‘bout to arrest you or somethin. Calm down.”

Shane almost smacks himself. Now he sounds like he’s doing the Good Cop routine.

Unbearably Daryl puts his bottle down and points his foot to the door.

Screw it.

Shane pushes off the table and crowds Daryl back into the counter, hands hooking into his belt and face tipping towards his. “You know how to do that, right?” Shane breathes against his lips. “Nice and calm...”

Shane kisses him softly, barest rub of his mouth on Daryl’s in a slow slide. “Right?”

“Knew ya wanted sumthin,” Daryl accuses, and like this Shane can feel all the gravel and taste all the dirt in his voice.

“Now you know what.” Shane steps back, taking Daryl with him by the lips.

“Do I?” Daryl’s piercing eyes look between his own.

Shane smiles, licks his lips, and sits on the table’s edge. He leans back on his hands and widens his knees. “I want you to fuck me, right here, right now.”

Daryl shifts his shoulders. “Ain’t yer husband gonna be home soon?”

“Not till four. Come on, now.” Shane reaches to bring him in and Daryl comes, slow and reluctant, between Shane’s legs. Jesus Christ. Shane’s never had to persuade someone to fuck him.

“Don’t know if I got what yer looking for,” Daryl says. His hand does settle on Shane’s thigh, hot, a little progress. “Ain’t exactly been around a lot or nuthin.”

That explains it.

“Think I care?” Shane feels out his cock through his pants and gets Daryl’s other hand gripping his shirt. “Know how to use this, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Come on then.”

Shane kisses him again. It takes a few moments for Daryl to respond, but when he does, when his hips urge forward and his tongue eases into Shane’s mouth, Shane encourages him with a loud moan.

Daryl plants a hand on the table and moves in all the way, all against Shane now; Shane’s clothes are going to reek after, skin around his lips sore and red from the burn of Daryl’s goatee.

Shane slides his ass off the table to take off his pants and that’s when Daryl grips him and switches him around.

Shane lands on the tablecloth heavily, blinking at the impact. “Oh shit.”

Daryl has him by the hair and hip. Shane feels his breath flow over the back of his neck. “This what ya want?”

Shane pushes his ass back. “Oh fuck yeah.” He’s so hard and aching. He squeezes his eyes shut. “Please, please.”

Daryl chuckles and Rick would call Shane a slut and maybe Daryl will one day, Shane hopes he does.

Daryl leans off his back. “Jesus, act like ya ain’t been fucked in a minute. That what y’all fight ‘bout? Rick don’t give it to ya?”

He shoves Shane's shirt up his back and inches his thumbs down either side of his spine to the twin dimples above his ass. “Throw me in with Merle if he found out ‘bout this.”

“He won’t,” Shane says, but pictures Rick’s face if he came in right now, saw Shane bent over the dining room table by the landscaper. He breathes faster.

Shane didn’t put on a belt or underwear; Daryl pulls his jeans down in a rough motion and hitches them under his ass.

“There’s a pretty sight.” Daryl grabs a cheek and Shane jerks forward and almost comes just like that.

“Hurry up, man,” he pleads, breathy and high and beyond caring, tablecloth scrunched between his fingers, sweat misting his eyes. His heart is thumping down into the wood below.

“All righ’.”

Shane hears a slick sound and something warm hits the bottom of his spine and starts sliding. Daryl drags it into his crack.

Shane turns hot when he realizes it’s spit and shoves back for Daryl’s fingers. 

One works in, still so dry where Rick’s always slicked him up real good, but Shane swallows his gasp of pain. Quicker Daryl thinks he’s ready the quicker Shane can get his cock in him.

“More,” he pants, turning his face into the table.

“Yer really fuckin tight,” Daryl says, “like ya ain’t even been broken in yet. How’s that?”

Daryl spits again and Shane gets another finger, worming in tight along the first.

“You’re gonna love that,” Shane says, “when you get in and I’m squeezin you. Bet you ain’t ever had it like that before.”

Daryl’s fingers jam in roughly and Shane smiles with the pain.

Shane could come like this, and he’s about to, before Daryl takes his fingers back, leaving Shane empty and whining softly.

Shane breathes and listens to the arousing clink of a belt being unbuckled. The sound alone’s always been enough to make his gut clench in anticipation.

Daryl’s cock bumps his thigh and Shane moans and tries to follow it until he’s held still by a hand on his hip.

“How rough ya like it?”

Shane can’t answer, because Daryl’s sliding in, heavy and filling and thank God, thank _Christ_.

Shane moans as loud as he wants in the empty house and hopes the sound somehow becomes apart of the walls and table and Rick feels it when he comes in, when he sits where Shane’s being fucked right now.

“Fuck,” Daryl growls, hauling him back onto his dick with a sharp clap.

The pain is enormous. Daryl’s thicker than Rick and spreads Shane into a burning ring around him. The fullness is incredible.

Daryl’s fingers clamp his hip bones tight enough there’ll be bruises. He slides that last little bit into Shane when he sets his hands on the table. It jolts into the wall and Shane is so filled, stuffed full, unable to stop himself from clenching around Daryl’s cock to feel all of it.

“Oh, God.” Shane drops his forehead on the table. There’s a black hole of hot desperation low in his belly and his thighs are shaking.

Daryl pulls back in a clumsy jerk and Shane seethes a breath, tablecloth clenched tight. Spit dries up too quick and he’s just tacky inside now, sucking tight. He pulls Daryl back in and they both grunt.

Daryl shifts and thrusts again, rocketing agony and lust up Shane’s spine.

The rhythm Daryl gets into is painful and everything Shane needs. The more Daryl fucks him the less it burns until Shane is panting in outright pleasure and being loud like he never gets to be anymore.

The table shakes and Shane moves his arm to keep his head from hitting the centerpiece. He can see his wedding ring now, sitting accusatory on his finger, jolting in his vision with each hard thrust.

 _Fuck you_ , Shane thinks.

A deep thrust makes Shane choke. Daryl holds himself there, letting Shane feel the weight of his cock.

Shane yells and shudders and explodes all over the tablecloth.

“Jesus.” Daryl leans over him, hand on his neck and arm pushing him into the table even as Shane twitches and struggles to find his breath. “You love this, don’tcha?”

Daryl’s cock moves in him again, long and aching. Shane bites into his thumb and his toes curl. He can’t tell if his legs are still working. His sore cock brushes the wet tablecloth beneath him maddeningly.

Daryl pounds away at him while Shane lies there and appreciates the sounds of sex. Daryl’s unleashed, growling and gripping and working at him like a rutting animal.

Shane bites his lip and turns his head to look out the sliding glass door. Warm wind touches his hot face, caresses his lips stretched into a sated smile.

Daryl comes inside him and leaves him dripping down his leg when he pulls out. Shane’s never loved that feeling so much.

He straightens up and looks over his shoulder. Daryl’s panting and leaning on the counter, his cock still out, streaming spunk still and blushing around the head.

He’s uncut like Rick, but thicker and shorter, lined with more veins.

Shane’s mouth waters when he thinks about tasting it.

Daryl catches his breath and swallows thickly. “Ya really made a mess.” 

Shane pulls up his jeans and looks at the table. “Nothin some bleach can’t fix.” He moves the centerpiece and sweeps the tablecloth off.

He drops it down to the floor and uses it like a mop for the thin strands of come Daryl’s leaked onto the floor, opens up the sliding glass door all the way to air the thick scent of sex out of the dining room, and looks at the clock.

Three hours.

Daryl looks at him oddly as unbuttons his shirt, kicks off his boots and strips out of his jeans. 

Shane passes him his clothes and the tablecloth. “Go put em in the wash.”

“I ain’t the maid.” Daryl dumps them back into Shane’s arms.

Shane starts to push the issue, but takes it back. “Man, you probably don’t even know how one works.”

Shane leaves him there to head to the laundry room. It’s been forever since he’s gotten to walk around naked in his house.

He leaves Rick a message about picking up Carl then comes back to the kitchen.

Daryl’s still there, having another cigarette. His sharp eyes track Shane as he walks to him.

“If you could fuck anywhere in here, what would your first choice be?” Shane asks. 

Daryl exhales smoke into his face. “Yer bed.”

Shane hadn’t considered that, but the idea grows teeth.

Daryl fucks him again in his and Rick’s bed, pushing Shane facedown into the mattress.

They’re less wound up now and it seems to go on for hours, to the point that Shane looks at the nightstand clock every five minutes, sure a huge chunk of time has passed with the push of Daryl’s cock rocking his body.

There’s two pictures of him and Rick there, one when they got married, lit to look like a dream, and another taken after that at some precinct party; Shane in an academy sweatshirt, staring up at whoever took the photo past a red solo cup. Only Rick’s arm is in the picture, laying over Shane’s shoulders, fingers lightly curled.

It’s on the nightstand because it’s the only picture of Shane when he was pregnant, not that it’s obvious in the picture. The only clear memory Shane has of that party is the taste of Diane’s blueberry punch.

“Harder,” Shane grits. He doesn’t want to remember. His hands are bunched in sheets Rick’s both fucked and made love to him on; he can smell Rick on the pillow and in the air.

The guilt only makes him come harder.

\--

“I’m sorry about last night.”

Rick presses fingers into him and Shane is sore, so sore. Didn’t think Rick would have enough energy to fuck him after he got home from work, but he knows sex is the best way to make up with Shane and Shane’s never discouraged that notion.

Rick’s lips touch his neck. The scab on his split lip scratches Shane’s skin.

The only thing keeping his searching fingers from being outright unbearable is that they’re coated in lube. Shane tenses anyway, trying not to pull away, but he’s not used to pain from Rick.

Rick eases his fingers out just to rub his hole gently.

Shane’s heart picks up in his ears.

“You’re all swollen,” Rick says. “How’d it get like that? From last night?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m sorry.” Rick turns him over and kisses him, lips and cheek and belly. “I’m sorry, Shane.” His head disappears under the covers as he goes to show Shane how sorry he really is.

Shane closes his eyes and tries to forget about everything and just enjoy it because Rick gives blowjobs maybe once a year on Shane’s birthday and

and Shane wonders how Daryl would suck him, he should’ve asked about that today, one of the only things they didn’t do and Shane doesn’t know when he’ll have that chance again.

He thinks Daryl would use teeth.

\--

Shane finds Daryl’s tattoos and scars and digs out spoonfuls of his past from their little excursions. Pulls little strings loose with the desire that soon he’ll have all of Daryl undone. Not for any benefit but to satisfy his fascination.

“How long’s this gonna go on?” Daryl asks as Shane closes the door on the shed, the light inching out until it’s dark.

There’s shit everywhere in here and Shane almost trips over a bundled up extension cord trying to get to Daryl.

“Long as I like.”

Shane kisses him. Their breathing is noisy in the black small space. “My boy’s takin a nap. We got a coupla hours.”

“That’s alotta fuckin time,” Daryl says, and Shane laughs.

Daryl puts him against the wall and licks down his throat, Shane’s heaving chest, undoing buttons as he goes.

“Suck me?”

“Depends.” Daryl licks into his belly button, tongue hot as a lit match. “Ya gonna return the favor?”

“Mm-hm, course I will.” Shane rests his head back on the wood. “I love suckin you. Wanted to have your cock in my mouth moment I saw you.”

“Damn.” Daryl unbuckles Shane’s belt. “I’m startin to see how much of a slut y’are.”

“You’re goddamn right I am.”

“Ya got a husband and y’ain’t satisfied.” Daryl rubs him through his briefs. “If I didn’t need the work I’d make sure he found ya gettin fucked, make ya admit one dick ain’t enough, ya had to go lookin for more.”

Shane shivers.

Daryl’s thin lips stretch around the head of his cock. Shane claws his fingers into the wood. Splinters shoot up under his skin. Shane licks his lips and gasps. “Thinks he’s—thinks he’s got it all figured out. Thinks he knows the right way to do things and I’m just gonna, _ah_ , roll over for him and cook him dinner. Nah.”

Daryl looks up at him and lets his cock go. “Is that what yer usin me for? Mad ‘cause ya gotta play housewife?”

Shane drags his lower lip between his teeth and sighs out a long breath as he guides his dick back between Daryl’s lips. “Shut up,” he whispers. “If you didn’t have it out for Rick bet you wouldn’t be on your knees right now.”

Daryl stands. Shane goes to slam him back down but Daryl apprehends him. 

Air whooshes by and Shane tastes damp wood.

Daryl breathes in his ear. “Well, if you’da panted after my dick same as ya did before...”

Shane growls and tries to twist back around but Daryl leans against him and Shane feels his hard cock through his pants and he wants that more than anything.

“We ain’t done a damn thing to Rick till he knows I’m fuckin ya,” Daryl says. “Ya wanna get back at him, lettin him go around thinkin everythin’s just peachy ain’t exactly revenge.”

“Sure ‘bout that? Sure as shit seems good enough to me. I get a real nice kick out of it. Nah, let him live on thinkin things are fine and dandy and I’m playin my part just the way he wants me to. That ain’t revenge?”

Shane twists to look at Daryl. “Know how much shit he could stick on your ass if he knew? Here he is, thinkin you’re a good kid and he’s gonna save ya from endin up where your brother is.”

Daryl rips his jeans down.

“Now.” Shane hisses at the burn of Daryl pressing inside but eagerly spreads his legs for it. “Now you just think about that.”

He fucks Shane in long, insistent strokes. Turns him around halfway through, lifts his leg to get back inside. Then they’re face to face but Shane can barely see Daryl in the dark, just taste his breath puffing over his cheeks and mouth.

Daryl makes him come then comes himself. When he pulls out Shane moans thickly at the sensation of come sheeting down his inner thighs, messy and sloppy.

Daryl grunts and opens the shed. Burning bright light and fresh air flood in. He shields his eyes and looks at Shane. “I was jus’ thinkin... You ain’t gonna get pregnant are ya?”

“Of course not.”

Daryl looks at him a long time with those flinty eyes, until he shakes his head and turns back towards the light.

Daryl takes a seat on the mat and reaches into his pocket.

At the flicking of a lighter, Shane comes and sits next to him. He holds out his hand. “Let me have one of those?”

Daryl blows smoke at him. “There ya go.”

“I’m serious, man.”

Daryl chuckles, but reaches into his pocket again and plucks out the first cigarette Shane’s ever had.

It burns his nose and throat and chest and Shane coughs like he’s dying but keeps dragging off it, until the taste of Daryl is coating his mouth and rests in his lungs, clouding blue from his lips.

When it’s down to a stub that scalds his fingers, Shane rubs it out on the morning dewed grass.

He asks for another.


End file.
